


IN ABSENTIA

by kyoromii



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Author Projecting onto TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Author is a Technoblade Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Author is a TommyInnit Apologist (Video Blogging RPF), Bad Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), But he's trying, Child Neglect, Crying, Found Family, Freeform, Hopeful Ending, Hurt TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Swearing bc tommyinnit, TommyInnit Needs a Break (Video Blogging RPF), not that obvious here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29555337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyoromii/pseuds/kyoromii
Summary: His eyebrows furrow as he thinks of something, and confusion stirs in his features as he looks Tommy in the eyes. “And..why-why would you cry, Tommy?”orTommy is forced to stay with his estranged family in light of some egg related issues. He does his best to keep his emotions in check, but a ghost's slip of the tongue is enough to send his facade come tumbling down.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 19
Kudos: 669





	IN ABSENTIA

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I know I should probs be updating my other fic, but I just wanted to drop this oneshot here since it was pretty personal for me. I have some other ideas in mind, but rest assured I will try updating my other fic sometime soon! Hope you enjoy :)

Tommy never quite understood the absence of his father in his younger years. He was far too young to comprehend the silent fury that simmered in Wilbur’s eyes whenever Phil came home; he never really noticed the way Wilbur would hold him a little bit tighter every time the tell-tale knock would resound through the too-big house after months of wait, and he was too young to be bothered by the way Phil never really got to know him. 

Well, maybe he  _ was  _ bothered, but Tommy never had the time to be bitter. Unlike Wil, the boy was full of childlike hope and a crushing naivety. Wilbur, on the other hand, had already mourned for the father Phil never would be. At the ripe age of 15, the brunette was 2 stages in his own grief. Anger simmered in the deepest parts of him, festering in the worst possible ways. It brewed an incessant insecurity that would follow him throughout his life, and some would wonder if these were the stones that his path to self-destruction was paved with. In the present, Tommy wonders if WIlbur ever breached past that stage, or if he simply thrived in animosity until it became too much in the end; until the well-hidden flames of resent ate him from the inside out like cheap paper. In the past, however, Phil would not notice the way WIlbur never looked at him anymore, while Tommy was too young to see the hurt. Tommy was too preoccupied trying to get his father to notice him. Phil would only stay for a couple of weeks at best, and the young blonde wanted to make the most of it, even if the quality time he oh so desired turned out to be tremendously lackluster time and time again. 

Looking back, Tommy recognizes how one sided everything had been. The little time his father would spend at home was spent resting, and he was a man of ‘not now's' and ‘maybe later’s’ that never came to fruition. Don’t get him wrong, Phil was always quite amicable. He was a good man, and Tommy would even go as far as to say he was one of the better ones he had ever known. However, a good man doesn’t always mean a good father. Tommy would be lying if he said he was ever outright cruel, he did in fact provide them with all they ever needed, but then again he doesn’t really know if that made up for the fact that was never really there.

He remembers all the searing small talk. He would shoot question after question, pointless observation after mindless comment, playing a game of roulette with one word answers. If he was lucky, Phil would go on a long winding tale of his recent journey. If he wasn’t, he would get a measly pat on the head and a small smile. Either way, it was always a blonde little boy chasing after a stranger. 

Tommy thinks he could count the amount of genuine conversations they’d had on one hand, and he had long come to terms with the fact that the number would stay the same. Alas, fate cared very little for his comfort zone, so this is how he finds himself sat at a table with his estranged family. The sound of clattering utensils fill the room, and Tommy looks at anything other than the three people in front of him. He can hear Ghostbur gleefully chatting away with Technoblade and Philza, and as the older man wheezes, Tommy can’t will himself to look at them. He exhales out of his nose swiftly, amused by a sudden thought. ‘It's ironic, isn’t it?’, he thinks. The blonde looks at the ghost of his older brother, taking in how he seems to eagerly lap up any attention Philza gives him, and he thinks the scene looks all too familiar. Except this time Tommy was the one who refused to meet their father’s eyes.

“What’s on your mind, mate?” A voice he recognizes as Philza’s asks, and Tommy doesn’t respond. The youngest continues to poke at his barren plate, dreading every drawn out second the expectant silence leaves behind. Phil, in spite of his lack of response, is insistent. He looks to Tommy with a smile and inquires once more, “How was your sleep?” The question is casual, inoffensive, but the young blonde’s grip still tightens around the fork in his hand. He recognizes that this is a genuine effort to make conversation, but the thought doesn’t prevent the bitterness that crawls up his throat. 

A couple years ago Tommy would have jumped at the chance to speak with his father like this. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined the luxury of actually getting listened to by Phil, and he would have happily began chattering in the hopes of gaining his admiration. Now? The questions only remind Tommy of how much he didn’t want to be here. He wishes he was back at the hotel with Sam, or that he was still hanging around Tubbo in Snowchester. Unfortunately, he practically had no choice but to be here. The egg was rapidly infecting the areas and people around L’manburg, and with him being immune and his family far from its influence, he had turned to them to figure out what to do next. He knew he was going to have to stay civil in order to help the people he had left behind.

It didn’t mean he had to like it though.

Because why the fuck was he trying now of all times? When he arguably needed it the least? A small part of him argues that it would be good to make amends for a past he cannot change, but he ignores it in favor of wallowing in his own pettiness. Tommy will gladly admit to anyone that he’s feeling extremely petty right now, and of course he is. His father was never there for any of his birthdays, and yet he sits at the end of the table, smiling like he knows him. He speaks to him so loosely, as if he hadn’t left them to rot until the very last second. Even now, they’re only brought together by a brainwashing fucking blood egg. 

That, and Technoblade. Because Phil had always had favorites, and anybody could tell who that was. 

Phil’s pleasant smile falls as in response to Tommy’s silence, whether its out of displeasure or something else, the young blonde can’t tell. Nonetheless, the frown on the man’s face calls the attention of everyone else in the room. Ghostbur stops mid-story, looking to his younger brother with a concerned tilt to his head, and Technoblade is unreadable as always. 

With three pairs of eyes now on him, Tommy can’t help but dream of a timeline where Ranboo was home right now. Because he knew that his silence was more telling than anything, and he longs for something to distract the three men in front of him from the fact that he’s blatantly ignoring them. Ranboo was really the only person he was willing to talk to right now. The split-colored teen was someone he could see himself being friends with, and albeit his amnesiac tendencies, anything would be better than the three ghosts of his past (only one of which being a literal ghost). But the boy had left in a rush earlier that morning. He said something about heading towards a woodlands mansion, before nervously teleporting away. Which he did in a manner that left Tommy suspicious that he left him with the three bastards on purpose. 

The child soldier sighs exasperatedly, and looks up from his plate, surprised to see the aforementioned three bastards still staring back at him. His eyebrows furrow,  _ ‘God, why are they so fucking persistent’,  _ he thinks. And as stubborn as ever, he merely shakes his head. 

“I don’t want to talk to you.” His words come out sharper than intended, yet he can’t help but relish in the crestfallen expression that plagues Phil’s face, or the way Techno’s lips thin into a straight line. Ghostbur continues to stare at him, and he can’t begin to try to figure out what’s going on in the specter’s head. Nonetheless, Tommy hopes his words rung with finality as he stands to wash his plate. He can’t afford to get comfortable in such a temporary situation. He’d made that mistake far too many times and wouldn’t fall for it again. This was but a brief truce to face a greater evil, and once this is all over they could go back to hating each other. 

Tommy wouldn’t be able to bear the loss of any kind of relationship formed between them, so he decidedly chooses not to build one; to leave it as the feeble building blocks that were never truly assembled. Besides, they were much better without him. Ranboo was the ideal son he and Wilbur never were, and although a small part of him dreaded the thought, he had made a point not to dwell on it.

“Tommy, don’t be like that,” Ghostbur starts, with the telltale lilt of floaty naivete in his voice. It surprises Tommy, to hear him try to cut through his brooding. Of all the people to reprimand him on his silence, he never expected it to be the Ghost of his brother. “Dad just wants to talk!” Ghostbur smiles, floating towards the young teen. He hovers around him as the blonde washes his dish in silence, pointedly ignoring the specter’s remark in favor of fixating on a stain on his plate. He hopes his obvious apprehension would get the ghost to drop the subject, but everybody knows the man was never one for tact. 

Instead, the brunette visibly ponders for a moment. He places a gentle finger on his chin and seems to remember something fondly. “You know that reminds me of something, Tommy!” The tall spirit claps his incorporeal hands together, a well meaning grin stretching across his face. “When we were younger, and it was just you and me in the big house.” Tommy tenses, looking at Ghostbur with wide eyes. The blonde boy opens his mouth to shush the ghost, fearful of what the  _ fuck  _ he was gonna start talking about. However any intervention he would have hoped for dies on his lips as the blue-obsessed man continues to ramble. 

“Do you remember, Tommy? I don’t remember a lot- for some reason I don’t remember some chunks from when we were back at the farm, but you used to always tell me how much you loved ‘Big bro Techie’ and Papa, yeah?” The ghost babbles, and Tommy flushes red in embarrassment. He goes to stop him again but is quickly cut off. “-Every year, on your birthday, you would wish for Tech and Dad, and we would blow out your candles together! And- and we would play games in Phil’s room, and sometimes we would sleep in there and-” Ghostbur’s optimistic recall of their childhood pauses as the brunette falters. His eyebrows furrow as he thinks of something, and confusion stirs in his features as he looks Tommy in the eyes. “And..why-why would you cry, Tommy?”

The red in Tommy’s face is no longer just out of embarrassment, but a deep shame and dread that hits him like a bag of bricks. He knows all too well about what Ghostbur is talking about, and although his retelling wasn’t necessarily unfaithful, he would say that it wasn’t as positive of an experience as the specter made it out to be. He remembers the fun he had with Wilbur on his birthdays, where Tommy had free reign on the day’s agenda and his brother’s full attention. He remembers the birthday cakes and multiplying candles, the fond wishes for his father and piglin brother to travel safe, and the sock-footed glides across Philza’s bedroom floor. 

But Tommy also remembers the profound disappointment he would feel when he woke up on those days. The moment of resignation as he realised his father wouldn’t be home in time for his birthday. Again. The man was only ever present for the ones he was too young to remember, and though he knew this as a fact, he always seemed to hold out hope that one day he would wake up to the embrace of ash colored wings and baritone greetings. He remembers the sadness that would seep into the bones as he would settle into Phil’s bed. Lying there with Wilbur, he would pretend he wasn’t sobbing softly into his chest, and in turn Wil would pretend his tightened embrace was nothing more than a means to get warm. 

The downcast expression on Ghostbur’s face fades as quickly as it came, and Tommy  _ needs  _ him to shut the fuck up. His eyes begin to burn, and his breath hitches as Ghostbur continues to speak. “Anyways! They’re here right now aren’t the-” “Ghostbur, stop.” Tommy tries, making a face at his dead brother, half washed plate gripped tightly in his hands.

Ghostbur does not listen. “-They’re here right now, right?” The brunette smiles, expectant, kind, excruciating.

“Ghostbur,  _ please.”  _ Tommy tries again, practically begs as he begins to shake, desperation bleeding through his skin. There’s a brokenness in his eyes as tucked away feeling come tumbling to the surface, and Tommy wishes the brunette would just fucking understand-

But he doesn’t

“They want to talk! We can talk! We’re fa-” 

“-WILBUR SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

Dishes clatter into the sink, and Tommy has a white knuckled grip on the edge of the counter. His chest heaves as he breathes heavily, and the blonde has no time to think about the fact that he just called the specter in front of him, wilbur. Instead, he is made aware of the deafening silence that follows. Ghostbur has a surprised look on his face, and despite his younger brother’s outburst, looks at him calmly. He blinks as if the boy hadn’t just screamed at him moments prior, and smiles. “I can wash your dishes for you, Toms!” He exclaims, and suddenly Tommy is being gently nudged away from the sink as the ghost takes his place.

One hand of Tommy’s is still tightly wrapped around the pale marble of the kitchen counter as he struggles to catch his breath. He closes his eyes in an attempt to ground himself, and only then does he notice the hot wetness that trails down his cheeks. He’s actually fucking  _ crying  _ right now, and when he remembers Phil and Techno are in the same room, he forces himself to turn away from where he thinks they’re seated.

He didn't want their pity, but running out wasn’t the best option right now with the state of his tear-filled eyes, so instead he opts for rubbing away the tears aggressively. “Fuck” He whispers to himself, frozen still and unsure of what to do now. Moving meant having to face the two people he  _ really  _ did not want to face at the moment, but he also knew moving was pretty much his only option at this point. He had no means of escape, and even if he could maybe try ignoring them, he doesn’t think he could handle their wary gazes for the next few days. Thus, Tommy turns and faces his emotional demise, hard stare burning into the wall behind their heads. He tries and fails to look nonchalant, with reddened eyes and furrowed brows barely keeping himself together. 

He can vaguely make out their expressions in his periphery, and while Technoblade is as stone faced as ever, there’s a sadness in his eyes that he can’t quite place. Phil’s mouth is slightly agape, and there’s an undertone of shock that glazes over his eyes. Tommy scoffs at this, because how could someone be  _ surprised  _ that leaving your children alone for months on end with no reassurance that you would actually come back would be damaging to said children? Regardless, Tommy ignores the slight guilt in their faces and continues his steely gaze. He’s highly strung at the moment, and his body is tense under the weight of room. A beat passes, and the blonde thinks that maybe they’ll just ignore what just happened. He hopes for the best and begins to move, aiming to walk past them both and lock himself in the guest bedroom until they forgot this ever happened.

But Phil opens his goddamn mouth and the teen remembers that fate will never do him any favors. “Tommy.. I didn’t- I didn’t…” The man starts, hesitant, and with those words Tommy can hear his next ones before he even says it. 

And he  _ seethes,  _ “Didn’t  _ what _ , Philza? Didn’t know?” He exclaims, his voice raising as a boulder of internalized rage falls off his own mental precipice. His eyes meet Phil’s for the first time this whole meal, and he kicks himself for the pain he knows is evident in his features.

“You didn’t know that I would  _ cry  _ on my birthday- which I don’t think you even  _ know-  _ because I thought my brother and father didn’t love me enough to come?” He yelled. The tears he had fought so hard against have returned, and he barely notices as they begin to spill down his cheeks. “You didn’t know that Wilbur absolutely fucking  _ hated  _ you? Like you didn’t know about the beach party? Like you didn’t know about Dream beating me into submission every fucking day, and blowing up my things?” Tommy screams, with his chest burning as indignant rants fall out his mouth. He’s furious, and his closely kept bitterness spills from him like a flood. He can vaguely tell that some of the shit he’s spewing isn’t necessarily the older man’s fault, or entirely true, but the blonde is too far gone to care. He wants this to hurt, because he’s been frustrated for too fucking long and tired beyond exhaustion. He’s tired of being pushed aside and disregarded. Tommy is fucking tired, and for once, he wants to be seen. 

“Of course you don’t know. You don’t know anything! You- you were never there for any of the good parts. You only came for the bad, when you could look at us-  _ me _ , and have that stupid fuckin look on your face. That stupid  _ fucking  _ disappointed face, as if you did anything to stop this shit from happening.” The teen’s tone is venomous, and he can faintly hear as Ghostbur finishes up the dishes. “You never fucking cared before! Why start now?” Suddenly, Technoblade is in front of him with an oddly gentle hand on his shoulder. Tommy shoves him away violently, and Techno lets himself be pushed away. The piglin calmly stands nearby him, eyebrows furrowed in a way that showed more emotion than Tommy had ever seen on his brother. The blonde boy hates the way he keeps his composure, and he turns to him sharply. The boy’s anger becomes redirected at the piglin hybrid, and he opens his mouth, foul words and accusations hanging on his tongue-

“Toms, hold-hold on and calm down for a second. I just- I know you’re angry, and that you hate us-” Phil starts, hands held close to his chest as he approaches his raging son. “-And I understand! I really do-” There’s a slam of a fist on the counter. Then, there is a pause.

“You don’t fucking get it, do you?” Tommy says. His tone is exasperated, defeated, almost; his prior explosiveness has seemed to die out, and instead the boy is dead on his feet, speaking in a tone aged in grief beyond his age. “I could- I could never hate you. I..” He chokes, tearful hiccups threatening to tear through him. He is shaking, shivering for reasons other than the cold, briefly taking a moment to take in a deep breath. “I just-Its just, why am I only a  **_fucking_ ** child when its convenient for everyone.” He laughs, his anger toned down by pure exhaustion.

“I’m a-a child when my ideas are stupid, when...when I’m in need of punishment. But Im not a child when I have to fight in fucking wars? When I’m put in shitty exile? When I have to choose between a brother that betrayed me and a best friend that betrayed me?”

The boy puts his head in his hands, a headache beginning to pound behind his eyes in response to the tears that burn through him. “and  _ both  _ betrayal weren’t even entirely their fault like peer pressure or some fucking-” Another pause, his energy to ramble on fizzling out. “-I just wanted a  _ home.  _ I just- I can’t… I-I could never hate you.” He finishes, and the final following pause is the most suffocating of them all.

Then, he is reminded by the cold fingers that touch his shoulder that the one person he trusted to stay was  _ dead,  _ and the dam breaks.

He is quickly falling to his knees, sobbing audibly and loud for the first time in forever. It's all open mouth gasps and wails, fingernails gripped painfully in his hair, and hot streams of tears burning across his cheeks. He is on his knees on the kitchen floor, and he can’t help but feel like the same, hurt toddler he once was.

His breakdown is not interrupted by the feel of calloused hands pulling him to the side. Tommy feels himself land against soft furs and velvet, and the boy barely notes that he’s now laying on what is presumably Technoblade’s chest. The boy continues to cry, hands moving to hold tightly onto the cape in front of him. He gulps for air, eyes shut tight, and he feels the fabric dampen pressed against his face. Then, one of his hands is gently pulled away from the cloak, brought to rest between two warmer ones. It's Phil’s, and Tommy is too worn out to fight the comfort it brings. He feels as Phil envelopes them in his wings, and rubs his thumb on the back of Tommy’s hand. 

His father shushes him, small comforts and hushed apologies floating past his lips like a birdsong. He tells him he’ll be okay, and although Techno has been silent for the most of it, the pinkette squeezes his shoulders throughout it in reassurance. Tommy’s sobs slow, and he feels the fatigue catch up to him. Weights are keeping his eyes closed while his erratic breathing begins to even out, and he feels himself melt into the arms that hold him close. He is falling asleep, and Phil speaks to him. 

“Im so sorry, Toms.” He brings a hand to Tommy’s face, wiping away the drying tears that track his features. “And I know that isn’t nearly enough, and I know we have a lot to talk about… but we can do that tomorrow, okay? When you wake up.”

Tommy relaxes further, sleep calling to him like a siren. He mutters a soft, ‘tomorrow’ in agreement. He could do ‘tomorrow’. It wasn’t a maybe later, it wasn’t maybe next time. And maybe for now, that was enough. Rest assured there was a lot they were gonna have to talk about in the morning, and there was no way it would be smooth sailing from here. But the road to recovery has to start somewhere, and as he feels a cold hand touch his face, he thinks, maybe they’ll be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> Man I projected so hard onto this fic. This is basically my life except with a hopeful ending bc c!Tommy deserves better lmfao-


End file.
